Useless Sound
by MidwestJen
Summary: There are responsibilities involved in being a friend. One of them is taking care of those left behind. Connected one shots, snapshot style ... new posts if/when inspiration strikes.
1. Post 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own or possess any copyrights in relation to this story, nor am I being compensated in any way … unless you count warm fuzzies from reviews. Sadly my bank does not accept those as currency. **

Edited A/N: This is a bit different. I started this as a one shot, and it really works like that I think. Then I started having flashes of how things could go with it. Instead of letting the ideas float away, I've decided to occasionally write them up and add them to this as additional posts, but it's not a connected story, more a series of scenes.

The first post is sad, but hopefully you enjoy it as well.

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**Post 1**

I sit quietly in one of my big leather armchairs, listening to the ever present drizzle that seems to always be present in a Puget Sound winter. My feet are wrapped in a blanket and propped up on a matching ottoman while I stare into the fire. I'm not sure what I expect to see in it, but it's hypnotic and I can't look away. I don't want to look away, because that means I have to acknowledge what has happened.

I hear other noises, and I vaguely recall him asking if I needed anything. I don't think I replied, and if I did I have no idea what I said, but he hasn't left. I wonder if he will. It sounds as if he may be in the kitchen, but I don't focus on that. Surely he'll need to leave soon, why would he want to be here, with me? His duty is done now.

I think back to the last time I saw them together. Such a pair. They acted like children half the time, and a married couple the other half. I was sometimes tempted to tell them that, but then they stopped being friends and I no longer saw him anymore. I had missed him.

"Michelle, can you drink this for me?"

Slightly startled, I jerk my gaze from the fire and focus on the man with bright blue eyes sitting on the coffee table near me. He's holding a cup of tea. My hand seems to reach out on its own, wavering slightly as it leaves my lap, and then it's wrapping around the cup. Taking a small sip, I feel my eyes fill with tears. It's perfect.

"You remembered." I tell him.

He smiles at me, sadly. "I will always remember doll. I'm sorry I haven't been around. That it took …"

I look back at the fire, unwilling to be reminded that I'm alone in the world now. He seems to understand, because he stops talking. I hear the rustle of his clothing and metal clinking softly as he stands up and walks behind me. It's dark now and the drizzle is still coming down. I say the only thing I can.

"Will you stay? Tonight. It's dangerous to ride in this." I want to lean back into the warmth of his hand when I feel it wrap around my neck, but I don't. The cold inside of me is too dangerous to be thawed.

He squeezes my neck once and trails his fingers across my shoulder lightly before he answers. "I'd like that. I need to make a call, will you be ok?"

I nod and hear the soft clumping sound his boots make as he walks out to the back deck, the one that overlooks Useless Sound. Useless. I feel that way right now. Except now I have something to do, a guest to prepare for.

Slowly standing, feeling the achiness that comes from hours of not moving, I fold up my blanket and place it on the back of my chair. Walking lightly through my large home, I shudder with emotion when I pass the door to the room he always used. Averting my eyes, I open the door that my guest will be in tonight, the room that was always designated for his use.

Robotically putting fresh linens on the bed and making sure there are the proper toiletries in the bathroom, as I know that he wasn't prepared for an overnight stay, my mind starts to drift. I feel selfish, but I can't help but wonder what I'll do now. What will become of me.

Without him, who will anchor me to this world? I haven't left my home in 14 years and 117 days. The only faces I will see now are delivery people and the person who brings me groceries. I haven't even seen his face lately, although I did not begrudge his moving away.

I encouraged him to leave me here. To fly without being weighed down by my past, the past that has somehow stained my future. I desperately want to make sure he was happy, but I don't know if I can ask about him. I'd have to use the past tense and that would be acknowledgement.

The soft steps slow as they pass his door, but continue on to the room I'm in.

"Thank you," he says softly.

My head rises without my consent and my eyes take in his lean form propped against the doorframe. I swallow down the bitterness and simply say, "You've always been welcome. Our friendship never ended."

His eyes drop away from mine, and a flush of shame tints his cheeks. "I know. I'm sorry for that too."

Shaking my head, not sure if I'm saying if it does or doesn't matter, I move to step past him. "If I'm not awake before you need to leave, everything is in the same place."

"Michelle …"

Suddenly I'm pressed against him, smelling the smoke and leather that seems to be their hallmark. Feeling his arms tight around me, my breath starts to catch, but I fight past it, trying to forget what I know.

I take another deep breath, filling my lungs with the scent that means love and friendship and family, before I push against him and walk away. If I cry, then it happened. The words he gave me hours ago will be true. I need to get away from him, but I know he won't let me escape this for long.

For now though, he allows me to walk away.

** -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

Today hadn't started out any differently than most of my days. I do not have a routine, but my life is simple. There are few surprises. I prefer it that way.

I had heard the bike coming from a ways off. My section of Whidbey Island is fairly unpopulated; the winds coming off of the Sound are strong in the winter, making it less attractive. We had bought a substantial tract of land when we built our home 18 years ago as well, so I don't have close neighbors.

Ears pricking, I put down my iPad and walked to the front of the house. Motorcycles weren't uncommon necessarily, not with the island also host to a Naval Air Station, but this sounded both familiar and unfamiliar. Listening to it slow as it neared my drive, my heart suddenly started pounding.

A premonition skittered across my nerve endings as I watched in alarm as the figure got closer and closer. When I recognized the rider my heart skipped a beat and my body went cold. I hadn't seen him in almost five years. He would never just show up.

As he parked the bike, my mind was taking in details that I refused to give any importance to. His slumped posture, sad bloodshot eyes and shaking hands were all hinting at the news he had come to give me, but like a child, I ignored it.

Opening the door, I stared at him, forcing him to ask to come inside. I had missed him, but I knew I didn't want to hear what he came to tell me. Silently stepping back, I led the way to the great room and sat down in my leather armchair. Not looking at him, but instead at the fire, I waited.

The words came, as I knew they would, telling me that he was gone. That Wednesday he had died. He didn't give me any details, but I didn't want them. It was enough. I mulled the words over and over in my head, trying to make sense of them.

My big brother, gone. Dead. I would never see that smile again, or the twinkle in his eyes. He'd never play a joke on me, or gently push me to try and leave this self imposed prison I've created for myself. I would never receive another hug. He would never fall in love and start a family, to have the joy I know it would have brought him.

I couldn't seem to wrap my thoughts around it. So I sat there, trying. Later I felt a blanket being placed around me, but I didn't stir until he brought me tea, hours later.

** -.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

Still in my slacks and shirt from the previous day, I was sitting on the back deck with another cup of tea as the sun slowly rose behind me. When I heard his footsteps pause near the French doors, I knew he saw that I hadn't been to bed. Staring sightlessly out at the Sound, I wondered absently if he'd scold me as he used to.

"When is the funeral," I asked, my voice betraying me by trembling.

He stepped closer, lighting a cigarette and resting a hand on my neck. "You don't want to plan it?"

I shook my head, knowing that was beyond my capabilities even if I could have arranged what my brother would have wanted. "He would want a Sons funeral. I know Gemma will take care of it the way it needs to be done."

"Will you go?" The hand on my neck moved slightly as my breath hitched, the thumb starting to rub soothingly.

Licking my lips nervously, I ignored the panic welling in my chest at the thought. "Yes. For him, I will." I wasn't sure I could, but I was going to try. Knowing I'd need help, I forced the next sentence out.

"Will you take me?"

He squatted down next to my chair, although I didn't look at him, I knew he was studying my face. I had never asked him for anything. Feeling his hand on my cheek, his palm warm against the scar, I let him turn my head.

"Of course Michelle. Anything."

Nodding, blinking back the tears, I looked back at the water. Hearing him stand next to me, I wasn't surprised when he said he had to go. I knew he'd be back.

"Tigger … Alex … thank you for coming to tell me in person."

Feeling the kiss on my head, a single tear slips down my face as he murmurs to me, "Kozik wasn't the only one who loves you Michelle."


	2. Post 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own or possess any copyrights in relation to this story, nor am I being compensated in any way … unless you count warm fuzzies from reviews. Sadly my bank does not accept those as currency.**

A/N: I was going to leave this as a one shot, but I keep having these little zings of how a story would go. I'm in the middle of writing something else at the moment (slowly working through some plot issues) and don't have time for another big story, so I decided I could tell this one slowly and in one shots that kind of go along together in a sort of snapshot way.

This is marked complete because I'm not making any promises that another scene will ever be added. If inspiration strikes, it strikes. Otherwise what's here should be able to always stand alone. Hope you enjoy!

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**Post 2**

All I can do is watch.

We are at my home on Whidbey Island, a large grey building with a wall of windows, sitting right on Useless Sound. The view is spectacular, but no one is looking at it. This fight has been brewing for months, but I didn't want to see it.

Have I inadvertently added to the problem by ignoring it? Perhaps.

My brother and I have a dynamic that doesn't allow for heavy handed intervention. I stay back because he does the same. It is necessary. My emotional equilibrium demands distance.

The pain in their eyes, both of their eyes, is staggering. I can already tell that this will be a defining moment in their lives, something that neither of them will ever forget. And perhaps they shouldn't. I only hope that something good can rise from the ashes.

The silence in the room is oppressive and a ball of tension curls tighter in my gut. I want to run away, to pretend that when he opens his mouth that everything won't change, but I can't. I will not be blamed openly, but I had a hand in what occurred, if only because I kept my distance.

Standing witness is my penance.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

I was sixteen the first time I met Alex Trager, or 'Tigger' and 'Tig' as he would later come to be known by. He and my brother had met in a bar, sharing military stories.

It was amazing to me how quickly the military could bring people together, even people who come from completely different lives. I could never have foreseen the friendship that would arise from some shared beers and a few hours of braggadocio. No one could have.

We were wealthy, he was not. He had an almost dangerous aura that brought to mind guns and illegal activities and we were part of a typical family. He was in a motorcycle gang, my brother rode, but just for fun. My brother was younger by at least 10 years, judging from the wear and tear on their faces. Or was it just hard living? The only things they had in common was dead parents, a love for adrenaline, and the US Marines.

That meeting changed my brother … made him into the man that had always been lurking underneath the suburb raised veneer. That it also started him on the path to his destruction is another point altogether.

I have never blamed Tigger for his influence on my brother, although perhaps I should have … considering.

No. He was a grown man. He made his own choices.

Alex kept his distance from me, and I was ok with that. What did a 16 year old girl with my upbringing and a 30 something year old man who had lived his life have in common anyway?

Where their friendship sprung up quickly, almost fully formed, ours took years to develop. Shared hardships and tense battles, schemes of revenge and triumphant victories all served to bind us together.

We formed an instinctive knowledge of each other, an oddly close relationship that made no sense to anyone from the outside.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

I swallow with some difficulty, standing firm despite my desire to sink to the floor and wish this all away.

They are still staring at each other, but the shock and incredulous surprise on his face is fading, being replaced by betrayal and hatred. My brother's face is still holding the same mask of indifference, but we can both see the sorrow and self hatred beneath it.

It won't matter. Some things can't be taken back.

Suddenly Tig spins away, facing the Sound, staring at it like the answers he seeks will be found there. He's normally rash; someone who repents in leisure for his hasty decisions, but this has hurt him too badly. He is thinking slowly, forced to pick his way through the pain and see things clearly.

I glance back at my brother, no sympathy evident on my face. I will stand witness, but I will not comfort. Noticing the trembling of his hands, the pallor of his skin, and the twitching eyes I wonder if he'll even make it through this confrontation.

Or if he'll run to his stash instead.

When Tig turns back around, the look on his face speaks volumes. He can see the same signs that I can. We have spent entirely too much time together putting my brother back together after a binge.

My lips tighten in grief as Tig turns his pained gaze on me, my eyes are filling with tears, but my look is resolute. I will not try and speak on my brother's behalf. His eyes close in understanding, realizing that this is all I can do to make it easier for him.

It's not enough. Not after what he's done for me, but it's all I have to give.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

I had been almost 19 when my world fell apart. When my life changed so drastically that it altered everything in my future.

I couldn't articulate to anyone why I called Alex before my brother. It probably looked like an odd reaction, but it made perfect sense to me. Luckily I never had to explain.

My gut told me that Tigger could handle this and my brother couldn't. He was getting tougher, the prospecting he was doing with the Sons of Anarchy in Tacoma was seeing to that, but he wasn't there yet.

I needed someone who could be cold and dispassionate and wouldn't hesitate. For me, that was Tigger.

I never had to say a thing. He had taken control, given my brother a story about the hospital not being able to contact him so they went to the next person. I don't think he ever fully believed that, but neither of us ever hinted differently.

Our friendship was still in the neophyte stages, but he never faltered. Alex was everything I knew he could be when he plotted and executed the plans for my revenge. I never asked him to do it, but he seemed to know exactly what I needed anyway.

I was there, in the end. To watch it be over. He told me that it would never really be over, not in my head.

He was right. I haven't left the house since.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

So many years have passed since then. Years full of love and laughter, addiction and madness. Years of seeing women come and go, sporadically watching the twins grow up, listening to them discuss the club and the chaos it can bring into their lives. Lately I've been watching the ropes of their friendship start to fray, even as we all step as lightly as we can, attempting to keep it intact.

This visit hadn't been any different than normal at the start. Since I had been taking care of her, something they were away from home too much to do themselves lately, they both visited more often.

I enjoyed the company … hers and theirs.

I knew, when my brother arrived, that he was using again. I had simply sighed and bitten my tongue, planning already to stock the things we'd need when he eventually tried to sober up again. It would be another broken promise to us both, but sadly, we were used to them.

At least he was alone. That was something.

While I was the only person who lived in this huge house permanently, they both had rooms here and could call this home. I always welcomed their friends, only asking that they be respectful while they were here. My brother brought women and a plethora of different friends around on a regular basis. Alex limited himself to his daughters and SAMCRO members when they came north.

They both knew that this was where I felt safest, but only Alex understood it. He didn't develop bonds with many people, and he didn't trust easily. This was as much a sanctuary for him as it was for me, a place to be himself without the walls.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

My voice was calm as I made the call. "Alex, it's Michelle, do you have a minute?"

"For you doll, I'd make a minute. What's up?" I smiled, his teasing tone overcoming my sadness for a second.

I had spent five minutes before this call trying to come to terms with the fact that I was going to lie to him to get him to come. I justified it, knowing he'd understand eventually, because if I told him before he got here …

"If you're not doing anything for the next few days, I could really use some help. Our brother has gotten himself into a situation and it's going to need us both." I knew before I finished that he was on his way, I could hear the sounds in the background change as he walked towards his bike. I hated myself for betraying his trust, for lying to him like everyone else in his life eventually did.

His voice was concerned as he asked, "Is this urgent, do I need to bring help or anything?"

"No no, just you. It is time sensitive though … I don't really want to say more on the phone." Attempting to keep the lies to a minimum, I gave him as much truth as I could.

And of course, he came. He always came when we needed him.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

The words were finally uttered, as I knew they would be.

"We're done. I never want to see you or talk to you again. We're brothers no more."

They stared at each other for a long moment before my brother dropped his head. A tear ran down my face, but I ignored it. I wouldn't take this onto myself, not now. I could mourn later, in privacy.

Alex swung his gaze to me, his cold blue eyes softening. He started to speak but I held up a hand to stop him.

We understood each other. He didn't need to explain himself to me. Ever.

I opened my mouth, surprised that my voice didn't break. "Would you like me to take you there to say goodbye?" He was moving towards me and nodding before I finished speaking.

Reaching out and taking his hand in mine, the only man other than my brother that I've allowed to touch me since I was 19, I entwined our fingers as we walked past my sobbing mess of a brother. Neither of us spared him a glance.

Leading him outside, I took him to his favorite copse of trees. I already knew I would plant flowers here for her next spring.

I attempted to step back, still feeling guilty that I didn't watch her better, that I allowed this to happen, but he wouldn't let me. His lips tightened and his eyes tore at me as he tugged me closer until I finally relaxed against him.

Standing there in the mist pressed against his chest, breathing in the scent of leather and smoke now mixed with pine, I listened as the man who had once tortured someone on my behalf cried as he said goodbye to his dog. The dog that his best friend, his brother, had killed by leaving cocaine out on a table where she made the fatal mistake of being too curious for her own good.


	3. Post 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own or possess any copyrights in relation to this story, nor am I being compensated in any way … unless you count warm fuzzies from reviews. Sadly my bank does not accept those as currency.**

A/N: Another tiny peek into this world. If there's a facet that you'd like explored drop me a hint either in a PM or a review. I'm not promising anything, but I'll take it into consideration the next time I need a break from a bigger story.

I hope you enjoy this.

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**Post 3**

Watching the taxi drive off, slowly picking its way down the long driveway, I stand there until I can no longer see it. I don't know if she turns around, but I like to think that she does. I snicker softly, a sad sound with very little mirth and too many years of pain behind it and hope that this time she will find what she's looking for.

Even if I know she won't.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

It had been a bad night, full of half remembered dreams and nightmares. The wind was whipping across the Sound, battering my deck and rattling my windows. I tilt my head slightly when I hear the faint knocking. Staring towards the door from where I sit at the piano, where I had been slowly but confidently playing Brahms, trying to let the music seep into my soul and help me to relax, I allow the past to take hold for only a second before reminding myself that they were dead … that I had seen them die in front of me.

Rising cautiously, I wonder who would make the trip here in this kind of weather. I knew it wasn't my brother since he would have called to warn me, not wanting to scare me, and wouldn't be knocking, since he had a key. Getting closer to the door, I glimpse a taxi idling outside, the plume of the exhaust rising around it like a shroud.

Now close enough to see her, my mind runs through possibilities quickly, dismissing them as soon as they occur to me. She doesn't look upset really; at least not in the way she would if something really tragic had happened. Knowing her the way I do, I snort softly. This will be interesting if nothing else.

Opening the door, I give her a welcoming smile. Our relationship has always been a mix between parental and sisterly. I see the small signs of exhaustion, the lines around her eyes and the pallor of her skin. Whatever she is running from or struggling with was making itself known physically. She always had felt things more deeply than her twin.

"Hello Dawn."

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

The first time I met them, the twins were getting ready to turn four and I was seventeen. Julia, their mother, refused to allow Alex to have them somewhere that wasn't a proper home, which meant that a lot of places were out. I was never sure why he chose to bring them here instead of asking someone like Gemma to help him out, but from her glares and bitchiness whenever she drug her ass north I was pretty sure she didn't know either.

Adorable was a word that I didn't use very often, but it was an apt description for the twins. And they knew it too. Dawn and Fawn, names that I still wince at a bit, were like any other children that age … loud and quiet in turns, shy or boisterous depending on who was around. Full heads of dark curly hair and bright blue eyes, their daddy shined out of their faces. Julia gave them some mannerisms and the finer features of their faces, but their coloring and attitude was all Alex.

I loved to watch them together. The twins seemed to have that innate twin thing, where they could talk together without saying a word, but it was when he joined in that it became fascinating … the quirk of an eyebrow, a turn of the lips and they would all seem to understand exactly what it meant. I knew that they barely saw each other and I would have expected a divide of some kind, a gradual unease that would fade as they reacquainted themselves, but I never witnessed one until they were much older.

It hurt a little, watching how close they were even with so much distance between them. Our parents had been good people, but busy and self absorbed. I couldn't remember ever sitting around with them playing board games or just giggling in front of the TV. My brother made up for it as best he could, but being almost eight years older than I was, he had his own life to live, especially once he joined the Marines.

Seeing Alex with his girls though, helped me remember that there were people other than my brother who loved openly and unreservedly. It gave me hope.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

I watch her quietly as she takes in the living room, unchanged from when she had been here so many times before. That seems to help her confidence as she turns to face me. She was eighteen now, a woman almost grown. In her eyes she'd been grown for years, but I knew better.

"I've missed you," I say quietly into the stillness of the room.

An indrawn breath and suddenly I had my arms full of her. Wrapping her up tightly, I wish I could keep her this way forever. I knew that she made her life more difficult than it had to be, that she hurt so much and was so confused about where she belonged that she pushed away the very people who could help. Julia had stupidly given up on them years ago, at a time when she should have been fighting to help, not giving up.

Pressing my face against her mass of curly hair, I slowly rub her back while she gathers herself. I had always been closer to Dawn than Fawn. Fawn was more independent, surer of herself. She had been affected by the same things, but she seemed able to innately handle them better. Dawn struggled, against herself and others, unable to understand her desire to be both taken care of and her hatred of being dependent on anyone for anything.

Feeling her lips move against my neck and a rumble of unintelligible sound, I kiss her head once before I lean back a little. Smoothing my thumbs under her eyes, I remove the tears that have fallen, tears that I know she would be railing against as soon as she had her emotions under control again. Taking her hand, I lead her to the couch and let her curl up into the soft squishy corner. I smile softly as she automatically hugs the throw pillow that she and I had made together when the twins were nine and Fawn had complained that no one knew how to sew.

I know better than to start the conversation with a question about why she is here or what is wrong. Touchy as a skittish horse, she will run or break herself trying. Questions still crowd my tongue, but I bite them back and avoid all of her triggers … her sister, her dad, her mom.

"You know, that pillow is getting old. I might have to put it away soon. I've mended it so many times that it's starting to look a little patchwork."

She lifts the pillow slightly and turns it around, her woebegone expression changing to something more reminiscent of her nine year old self.

"I like it, it has character now." Her eyes narrow a little as she looks at the seams. "Magic is obviously holding it together though."

I laugh a bit, because she is right. It hadn't been our best work, but it was special to me and I try to litter my home with items that remind me of the people I love. Pictures are wonderful, but things that I can hold while I am sad, or music that helps me recreate moments in time, are the glue that holds my soul together.

We subside into silence, not an uncomfortable one, more thoughtful. I pad softly to the kitchen and make a pot of tea, a calming mix of flavors that I know she likes. Setting the tray down, I motion her forward, smiling when she puts her nose over the cup and inhales deeply.

"I heard you playing … when I was at the door. I had forgotten how good you are," she said as she tips her head towards the piano.

I smile a little shyly, not used to hearing compliments anymore.

"Thank you."

"Will you play me something?"

Seeing the pained expression on her face, I accede gracefully and rise. Trying to read her was like having someone spell words out to you by touch. You would eventually work out what each letter was, then each word, then finally the sentence. But it takes awhile and some repetition. Right now all I could see was that she had done something she wasn't proud of, something that hurt her inside, but her defenses were up and screaming at me to not ask.

So I wouldn't.

At least not in words.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

The day Alex became Tigger, I had been at the piano as well. Julia had needed Alex to take the girls a few weeks after kindergarten had finished for the year. Nineteen, damaged and broken, with big eyes and a voice that seemed to dry up in favor of watching everyone else, I spent most of that week soaking in the love that permeated the house.

As had become the custom, Julia had dropped the girls off. I knew that part of the reason Alex got to see the girls on a semi-regular basis was because my home was close enough that she was never more than a couple of hours away. If he had tried to take them to Charming, a drive that took an entire day to complete, she would have placed a lot more restrictions on their time together. I was always scrupulously polite, my well bred manners coming to the fore, trying not to upset her and cause Alex pain if she chose to retaliate with the girls.

It had been a full house, my brother having decided to spend the week at home as well. The boys acted more like children than the girls did at times. Right now, dinner long over and the night getting darker, my brother and Alex were rolling around on the ground, a wrestling match gone wild. I wasn't surprised when the girls jumped in or when Fawn extricated herself earlier than Dawn. She was more delicate than her sister, preferring to do more traditional girl activities.

Clapping my hands after glancing at my watch, I reminded Alex that bedtime was coming up quickly. Talking over the moans and groans of all four of them I just shook my head at the pleading. Feeling a tug on my shirt, I looked down to see Fawn staring up at me with big eyes.

"Can we listen to you play Aunt Michelle?"

Scooping her close, tickling her a bit, I agreed with hidden trepidation, hoping that it would quiet them down enough that sleep would come easier. Running my fingers through that tumble of hair, I caught sight of some of the scars showing on my hands. Feeling a hand on my neck, I didn't need to turn to know it was Alex. He knew what I was thinking about.

Turning my head slightly, I met fierce blue eyes. He nodded his head a bit, squeezed my neck, and then scooped up Fawn before yelling back that they'd wash up and be waiting for their 'concert'. Rolling my eyes, I gave him a quick smile before following my brother, who had Dawn in a similar position over his shoulder.

Running through some quick pieces to warm up my hands, knowing it took longer now before my fingers were loose enough to do much, I giggled quietly as they all came trooping into the room, overflowing with good spirits and laughter. Taking my cue from that, I let my fingers slide into a Winnie the Pooh song, "The Wonderful Thing about Tiggers".

Some people may have thought that his nickname came from his energy, and in a way, it did. But it wasn't from the things he did that were illegal, or just his natural exuberance, it was because of this … a hard man who had done horrible things, things that would give most people nightmares, but who was acting out the part of Tigger for his daughters without an ounce of self consciousness, making them scream with laughter.

By the time he collapsed on the floor, spent, his new name was set in stone. My brother would make sure it made the rounds far and wide, until years later, it would be the only name anyone really knew him under.

**-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-**

Ending my reflections, I glance at Dawn out of the corner of my eye. Her face is set in sad lines, a guilty expression crossing it occasionally before she pushes it resolutely back down. My eyes dip back down to the keys as I continue to allow my fingers to move on autopilot, hoping that one of the songs will break through to her.

It isn't a conscious decision to start playing the Tigger song, but as I realize I am playing the opening chords, I see her wince. Pretending not to notice, I dance my fingers over the bright keys until the song comes to its happy conclusion.

I still my hands and turn to look at her without judgment. Whatever was wrong had to do with Alex. I hadn't seen him since the day I told him about Missy, the day I took him to her grave, but I hear things occasionally, things my brother would let drop without thinking about it.

"I did something bad Michelle," her voice was small, shame coloring her face a dusky rose. Her bright blue eyes, so similar to her father's, meet mine before flinching away.

I move closer, settling in my favorite chair, and draw my legs up underneath me. I don't say anything, knowing that she isn't someone you can push.

Her voice starts out soft, but gets louder as she makes her incomplete explanation.

"I told him that Fawnie … that she was sick and needed money for a treatment and that … but … he was never around though, don't I deserve … he'd just spend it on something stupid, right?"

Tuning most of her words out, knowing she is trying to make her actions acceptable in her head, I see the struggle between wanting her daddy's love and wanting to hurt him for not being what she wanted him to be.

Her voice finally trails off and her eyes drop to her lap before she goes on quietly. "He didn't even really hesitate Michelle, he just got me the money. I don't think he even believed me … not that he should have, but … why would he do that?"

My heart breaks at the look on her face, seeing the little girl I had watched grow up from an innocent child to a hardened manipulator who is angry at the world.

My voice is equally quiet as I reply. "Because he's your father, and he loves you."


End file.
